


time alone at last

by turtlesparadise



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Character Study, expository, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlesparadise/pseuds/turtlesparadise
Summary: Legend, normally the life of the party, is unusually quiet and introspective one evening amidst the noise of Turks happy hour.  Sometimes the strongest crumble a bit on the inside, when the world gets to be too much.  Character study/mood piece for Legend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note for those unfamiliar with my version of Legend - he also goes by Zed (which is also just a nickname and not his real name) - I will often use Legend/Zed interchangeably in my stories.

Always the life of the party, or at the very least he was always _expected_ to be the life of the party, tonight Legend was decidedly not.  Not in the mood, not feeling any too sociable, he was inexplicably feeling all alone, even surrounded by his friends and co-workers at the Wall Market Pub.  It was the kind of loneliness that required a membership to a club Legend never thought he’d be a part of.

He’d never planned on getting married in the first place, never planned on becoming a father, but things just sort of _happened_.  The same way things just _happened_ in one fell swoop, in the blink of an eye and the flash of a bomb he was made a widower and a grieving father all at once.

He shook it off, or at least pretended to, turning to women and drink, and a few other illicit substances which always dulled the pain, but it was always only temporary.  Veld called him back to the fold, gave him another chance, another lease on life, and this time he’d stayed.  Even made a life of his own, still the fun-loving and irreverent Legend, always hiding a shadow behind the cocky smile. 

The drink in front of him was bitter, poorly made by the new bartender who appeared to be nervous, struggling to keep up with the drink orders.  He drank it down anyway, smiled and ordered another.

He leaned forward on the bar, signaled the bartender closer.  “Take it easy on the bitters,” Legend advised the barkeep in a low voice.  “You’re doing all right, kid.” 

“Right!  Thank you – thank you, coming right up!” came her quick reply.  Legend thanked her, threw a five-gil note on the bar for a tip, and glanced over toward the gaggle of Turks sitting over in the corner booth they’d claimed.  Reno was being Reno, griping about something or other to Rude and Tseng who were summarily ignoring him.   Emma and Shotgun had their heads bent together, eyes roaming about the packed bar, sizing up potential dates, while Nunchaku – who not exactly legal drinking age in Midgar, but he was a _Turk_ so nobody was about to question his presence there at the pub -  made it rather obvious that he was eavesdropping on the two, trying to find out who they liked.  

Legend gave the group a casual wave as he waited for the bartender to fill his drink order.  The lights inside the bar dimmed but still seemed too bright to his eyes; the noise around him was the usual din of happy drunks, argumentative drunks, people talking over one another, flirtations and inebriated assignations happening over cocktails.

It was the usual scene, _his_ usual scene nearly every weekend, but quite suddenly, Legend found that wanted no part of it.   The drink he’d ordered suddenly arrived in front of him, and Zed found that he did not want it.  He drank it regardless, pounding it down quickly, then settled the bar tab; even throwing quite a few extra gil on top of the total, and told the barkeep to cover the next few rounds for the Turks that remained behind. 

Reno looked up at Legend sharply, quizzically, noticing the senior Turks’  body language, poised to make an exit.  Legend jerked a thumb toward the door and shrugged his shoulders, mouthing _heading back home_ as he inched his way through the crowd near the bar.   Reno nodded, gave Legend a half-salute, the puzzled look on his face remaining.  It wasn’t _like_ the man to bow out early, especially on a Friday night in a crowded pub, surrounded by pretty women – the Legend’s weakness, normally.

“Huh,” Reno murmured around the mouth of his beer bottle, shaking his head.  “Weird, isn’t it?”

“What’s weird?”  Rude returned, noncommittally. 

“Him.  Taking off like that.  Not his style.”

Rude shrugged.  “Maybe he needs some time alone.”

Reno chuckled.  “Mister Popularity?  I don’t know, man.  Like I said…that’s not like him.   He barely even sat with us.” Nunchaku caught this, and began to look a bit worried.

“Is he okay?”  the junior Turk inquired.  Reno nodded, smiled a bit, though he didn’t feel entirely confident in that single head-nod.

“Yeah, kid.  I’m sure he’s fine, he’s the fuckin’ Legend, right?”  Reno knew, though, as did most of the higher-level Turks, just how Legend had earned that moniker.   Veld had warned them all not to talk about it in front of him, and so they never did.  But Reno was a profiler, and never forgot a piece of interesting information about a person

Reno suddenly remembered the date, and then suddenly remembered its significance.

“Aw shit.  That was _today_ , wasn’t it?”   Suddenly Legend’s downward turn in mood made sense.

“What was today?”  Shotgun piped up, popping a cashew into her mouth.

“Ah, nothing,”  Reno lied.  “Just – never mind, it’s nothing.”

 

* * *

 

Legend left the Wall Market Pub, ears still ringing, eyes still burning from the haze of smoke; he lit up one of his own cigars, inhaling sharply as he stepped out into the alley, passing by stacks of crates, piles of refuse, a few people lying in shadows here and there – all of them trying to sleep or just stave off the cold, shivering beneath crumpled up sheets of newspaper in a futile effort to keep warm.

He tossed each of them a few gil as he passed by, taking care to put it either directly in their hands, or in the collection cup if they had one nearby.  After he’d come out of the alleyway, turning onto the main avenue, feet pointing toward home, Zed shoved his hands into his pockets, hunched over against the cold blast of wind, trying to put those thoughts out of his head.  Try as he might, though, he could not, and even the effort to do so – to consciously try and shove those thoughts of his wife and child out of his mind -  made him feel the slightest bit disloyal. 

The fountain in the middle of the square was still filled, still running, the outdoor temperature not quite cold enough to freeze the water, and he paused, reaching down into his pocket to unearth two more coins, which he tossed into the fountain, silently uttering a wish for each one.

A silver coin for his wife Roxy, and a gold piece for his daughter, Laurelei.  As he flicked the last coin into the fountain, he offered up another silent prayer, blinking in the bright streetlight that reflected off of the edge of the gold coin.

_I miss you.   I wish you were both here with me.  I wish you didn’t die, I wish I’d have been quicker, smarter, faster, able to stop that fucking monster from **killing you**  – _

All of the _could haves_ , _should haves_ , would haves, were useless platitudes at best and condescending pieces of advice at worst; things Legend went over and over in his mind, second guessing himself for years, wondering what he might have done differently.

They’d investigated formally, following the incident, and found that Zed had not violated any of his contracts, nor had he betrayed any of Shinra’s secrets, which ended up being his saving grace; his loyalty had earned him a considerably ‘light’ prison sentence, house arrest in Costa del Sol.  As Veld had put it to Tseng, who questioned the Commander about Zed’s sentence, he felt that the Legend had been already been punished in one of the worst ways imaginable.

It was a sentence from which there would never be any release and some nights, like tonight, were worse than the others.  Certain dates, particularly anniversaries, would send the normally affable and devil-may-care Turk into a downward spiral.

He sighed, cigar smoked down to the filter by now, as he reached his apartment building; Legend stubbed the butt out into the standing ashtray by the door, absently gave the doorman a wave, and pressed the elevator button to the penthouse floor, hoping that when the next day dawned, the hollow feeling in his chest would be gone, knowing full well that the memories - and the ever-present _guilt_ \- would never completely fade.  


End file.
